


Time for a Sabbatical

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boyd and Isaac are in his pack, Erica - Freeform, M/M, Peter's an alpha, Peter's version of being a good boyfriend, Small bit of daddy kink at the beginning, Stiles isn't terribly nice, but Peter's worse, by terrorizing Harris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 20:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10170938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: “Tell me something – would you be upset if Mr. Harris was no longer your teacher?”“Let me ask you another question – of our pack, who would you take if you wanted a bit of mischief?”





	

There’s been way too many texts, but Stiles isn’t ready to let this conversation end.

 

_I’m sorry, Daddy, I shouldn’t have said that._

_You’ve got quite a smart mouth on you baby boy. Hmm, maybe I need to put it to good use!_

_You could Daddy, but I’d rather have you fuck me._

_Hmm, can you be a good boy and earn my cock?_

 

“Mr. Stilinski, I hope I’m not interrupting something important. I don’t suppose you want to explain why we go the chemical reaction we did?” Harris asks, familiar sneer on his face. He stands close enough to Stiles’ desk that he’s practically sitting on it.

“Uh, umm,” Stiles stutters out, trying to catch the eye of one of his friends, but they’re carefully keeping their heads down. “Not really.”

Harris sighs and then suddenly reaches down, pulling on Stiles’ arm so can snatch the phone out of his hand. “And what’s more interesting than trying to pass this class, Mr. Stilinski? Since you’re taking up time in our class, I guess you’re okay with sharing this with everyone?”

Sitting across the room, Boyd says, “God, please no,” earning a few snickers.

Stiles grabs for his phone, snarling, “Give that back. That is a private conversation.”

“You should have thought of that before you decided the rule of no phones in class doesn’t apply to you.” He clears his throat and pages up on the screen ready to start reading, but stops and swallows hard, looking from the phone to Stiles. “My god,” he whispers. “Your father? This is a conversation with your father?”

“Ew, don’t be gross. That’s not my father, you sicko,” Stiles answers, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “And I’m 18, and give me back my phone.”

“Well then, who is… Oh, that’s just…” Shaking his head slowly, Harris puts the phone in his pocket and says, “I still question if your father would think this appropriate. You’ll get your phone back after your detention this afternoon.”

 

As soon as he has his phone back, Stiles flips to the text screen, anxious to tell Peter he wasn’t ignoring him.

And he must have thought so:

_Baby boy?_

_Stiles?_

_Is everything okay?_

Thankfully, the next message is from Erica:

_Don’t worry, told Peter u lost ur phone privleges_

And then more messages from his packmates:

_I let Peter know what’s up, don’t worry._

_Peter’s pissed, not at u. Knows you got your phone taken._

 

Stiles goes directly to Peter’s after school where he’s swept onto the couch for cuddles and reassuring scent marking.

Peter pets his hair and asks, “You’re okay? No lasting damage?”

“No, just kinda pissed still. You’re okay?”

Peter nods and rubs Stiles’ cheek. “Yes, of course. No repercussions from your father?”

Stiles takes his hand and kisses Peter’s fingertips. “I don’t see how. My dad isn’t your biggest fan, but he knows he can’t do stop me from being with you.”

“And no other concerns? The conversation won’t come back to haunt you?”

He yawns and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Well… I kept an eye on Harris after he took my phone and he didn’t keep looking through it. And anyway, what’s he going to do, go to the principal or the school counselor and say, ‘Let me read you the porny texts Stiles is sending’ without sounding like a total perv?”

“I hope not, my texts are intended for only you, love,” Peter says, kissing Stiles’ temple. “Tell me something – would you be upset if Mr. Harris was no longer your teacher?”

Stiles pulls away and studies Peter, suspicion in his eyes. Which only makes Peter smile. “Wasn’t my teacher? Alive, but not my teacher?”

“Of course,” Peter answers, waving his hand. “Frankly, he’s not worth the risk. But remind me, why didn’t I kill him originally?”

“Probably because he wasn’t worth it then either, small potatoes, you know.” Stiles pulls Peter’s arm around his shoulder and sighs. “But if he were gone, I’d be happy. You’d be doing a public service.”

“Stop trying to talk me out of it.” Peter sits quietly, enjoying nuzzling Stiles and how he nuzzles him back. Pack and mate, all rolled into one. “Let me ask you another question – of our pack, who would you take if you wanted a bit of mischief?”

“No killing, right?”

Peter snorts and says, “No killing. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Well, you are a notorious liar. So mischief? Erika, absolutely,” Stiles answers, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder, so he can kiss and rub his face on Peter’s jaw.

“Obviously. What do you think of Isaac?” Peter asks, tilting his head back. Sometimes he’s surprised how he lets this boy so near his throat, but it’s so lovely that he can.

“He’s a snotty little bitch and I don’t like him around. But you know that, why are you asking?”

Peter chuckles and says, “I meant, do you think he’d be helpful for my project with Erica? I’m thinking yes. Not sure about Boyd though.”

“If Erica’s interested in your plan, Boyd’s in as well. He seems quiet, but he’s got an evil heart.” Stiles moves away so they’re not touching. That’s really the only way they can have a serious conversation.

“Okay, thanks, that’s my take as well.” Peter bites his lip, lost in thought. “You’ll have to deal with Harris tomorrow, but after that…”

“One more day? I can do that.” He stands, putting his phone in his back pocket. “I need to get home, I’m supposed to eat with my dad tonight.”

“That’s fine, I have plans to finalize.” Peter stands and walks with Stiles to the front door. “Oh, do you have one of those black knit caps I can borrow?”

Stiles digs in the pocket of his jacket and hands the hat to Peter. “It’s called a beanie, old man. Enjoy yourself and keep me posted.”

 

Wednesday night and all Adrian Harris can think of is there’s only two more days until the weekend. He can get through two more days, the worst is behind him. He’s got tests to grade, but should be able to do that during his free hour tomorrow. If not, he can assign the little monsters some reading and do the grading then. After all, it’s not like the little morons are anxious to get them back, since there’ll be so many failures, as usual.

He’ll have a drink (just one, promise) and find some mindless movie on television. He sits in his favorite chair, drink in one hand and remote in the other. Then there’s a noise outside.

“Damn raccoons,” he mutters and looks out the back window. He turns on the light in the back yard and raps on the kitchen window, even though he doesn’t see anything by the garbage cans. But maybe there’s something? A dark shadow that runs across the backyard?

He keeps staring, and doesn’t see anything again, so goes to shut off the lights and then there’s something again. Two shadows, this time not running, but it looks like they’re walking in the yard from the back towards the house. It’s obviously shadows from the trees, because there’s nothing out there. He’d recognize people and there’s no faces, just vague shapes. People shaped shapes.

He pulls the sheer curtain over the window and goes back into the living room, about to sit down, when he hears a noise in the front yard. He turns on the porch light and looks out the small window at the top of the door and… something looks back at him.

Glowing yellow eyes, right up against the door and he jumps back, stumbling over the rug by the entryway.

“Reflection from the light,” he whispers and forces himself to look out again. There’s no eyes this time (of course not) and he takes a breath, thinking how silly he was, scared in his own house, like a little girl. He’s about to turn away and then sees the shadows in the front.

This time, they’re easier to see backlit from the streetlight in front of the house a couple of doors down. Three shadows, all human shape, but … not.

They’re slightly bent over, but still larger than they should be and perfectly still. Harris stays looking out the window, blinking and hoping they go away, that he’s just imagining things. And suddenly they are gone, running off in different directions.  One runs to the right of the house, one to the left and the largest one runs right towards the house, right towards him and Harris ducks down behind the door, but he doesn’t hear anything hitting the house.

He takes another look out the window and there’s nothing there. He checks the locks on the doors and makes sure both locks are locked. Then thinks he should check the back door and the windows there. He quickly moves around the front of the house, checking the windows are all locked, pulls down the blinds and shuts the curtains.

“It’s kids, it’s probably kids,” he says to himself. The damn kids at school hate him probably as much as he hates them. He takes a couple of breaths and feels his heart beat calm. “It’s kids,” he says again and looks out the kitchen window into the back yard.

The thing out there – it can’t be human, he can’t quite see all of its face, but it doesn’t look human. It’s misshapen, with pointed ears and too many teeth. It knocks over the garbage can by the back door and looks up to the window with bright red eyes and something that might be a smile.

Harris pulls the curtains shut (they’re sheer, why did he buy sheer curtains?) and crawls into the living room, towards his phone on the coffee table. Call the police? Should he? He can’t have seen what he thought he saw, it’s impossible. He opens his contacts and there’s his next door neighbor’s number. He can call and ask if they’ve seen or heard anything strange. He presses the buttons and… nothing. He looks at it, he shakes it and there’s nothing there, it’s not working at all.

He throws the phone against the wall and sits with his back against the couch, trying not to hyperventilate and trying to decide what to do. He hears more noises from the kitchen area, like the garbage cans again, but he’s not going to check. The thing or things are outside, and his doors and windows locked.

The bedroom – the windows would be shut, but are the curtains drawn? Are the windows locked? He crawls down the hallway on his hands and knees and stops suddenly when he hears a noise on the roof. Something’s up there, running from the front of the house to the back. Then something runs from one side to the other and then he hears both – there’s at least two things on the roof.

He keeps crawling towards his bedroom and to the window. He stands just long enough to check the lock, pull down the shade and shut the curtains. “Cats. It’s cats, there’s cats on the roof,” he tells himself, slipping down to sit against the wall. He’s silent and listens to the noise and it sounds like… it sounds like whatever’s on the roof is dancing. Dancing?

Then there’s scratching on the window just above his head and a thump on the wall that shakes the room. He hears running on the roof and then the things stop when they’re over his head. The scratching continues on the window, sounding like claws scratching at the glass.

Harris gets up and runs into the kitchen, pulling open drawers to find his carving knives. He keeps one in each hand and uses one to push aside the curtain. There’s nothing outside this time.

He quickly checks the second bedroom and the bathroom, pulling shades and shutting doors. If the things get into the house, at least there’s a flimsy door that needs to be broken through.

The scratching follows him, moving to the side of the house, and Harris sits on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. He tracks the running across the roof and the scratching moving from one side of the house to the other.

And then suddenly there’s silence. It’s strange, no noise from outside, nothing on the roof, complete silence. Harris stays still and waits – five minutes, then ten. No noise.

He goes to the kitchen and opens the curtain and there’s nothing in the back yard. He walks to the bedroom and peeks around the blind and there’s nothing there either.

Maybe whatever it is – whatever it was is gone? Maybe it wasn’t anything except stress. Maybe.

He moves to the front of the house, looking out the front window and there’s nothing. The regular suburban street, cars parked down the block, street lights lit as usual.

“Fucking Beacon Hills,” he says and goes to the front door, looking through the window.

The thing is there, leaning against the door, red eyes looking at him, grinning with a mouthful of teeth. It bangs on the wall next to the door shaking the house and makes a noise that’s a cross between a howl and a roar.

The scratching is back and he hears pounding as whatever they are beat on the sides of the house until the windows rattle and something runs across the roof again.

“Leave me alone!” he screams, but the noises outside continue. Adrian Harris curls up on the cold tiles in his entry hall and prays that whatever is out there will kill him quickly.

 

Stiles is out of the shower and getting dressed for the day when his father knocks on the bedroom door, calling, “You decent?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

Noah’s in his sheriff’s uniform, ready for work, phone in his hand. He sighs loudly and looks at the phone and then his son. “So if Adrian Harris from your school reported monsters attacked his house last night – you don’t know anything about that, do you?”

Stiles grins and starts to chuckle, snorting out, “No. No I don’t. It’s wonderful, but I don’t know anything about it.”

“He said there were half a dozen things around his house and on the roof last night. He tried to call the police, but his phone didn’t work,” Noah says. “That doable?”

“That someone lost wifi? Yeah, that happens,” Stiles says. He sits down in his desk chair and pulls on his shoes.

“Hmm, bad timing, I guess.” Noah leans against the door and scrolls down on his phone. “He said some of the creatures had glowing yellow eyes and the biggest one had glowing red eyes. Red eyes, Stiles. Sound like anyone you know?”

“Hmm,” he says, grinning. “Well, Peter’s got red eyes when he’s doing his scary alpha thing. But I don’t think scaring teachers is really his thing. Anyone die?”

Noah sighs again and says, “No, Stiles, no one died. Which is a _good_ thing.”

Stiles shrugs and says, “Sorry then, but you know how Peter is. No deaths, not him.”

Noah shakes his head. “Not reassuring, son. We’ll investigate, but honestly, there’s nothing disturbed around his house. Everything looks fine, no claw marks, the yard’s completely clean. Not sure what we can do, other than patrol the neighborhood for a few nights.”

Stiles tries unsuccessfully to stop smiling as he gathers his books, shoving them into his bag. “That’s good for you guys, I guess. He give you a statement then?”

“He spoke with the deputies early this morning. Phone finally worked and they came out around 5 a.m. Deputies found him in his bedroom closet surrounded by kitchen knives.”

With his back turned, Noah can see Stiles’ shoulders shaking as he tries not to laugh. “Son, this isn’t funny; he was terrified. He went to the ER and I’m not sure what’ll happen next. When you’re at school, _try_ not to be too gleeful, okay? If only to avoid suspicion; if I didn’t know you were here last night, I’d suspect you.”

“Sure, I’ll be quiet. Oh my god, is he going to end up in Eichen?” Stiles asks gleefully. “I should feel bad, but, hey, it’s Harris.”

“You know, you were a lot nicer before you hooked up with Hale,” Noah says, shaking his head. He’s never been happy about his son’s relationship, but he’s 18 and forbidden fruit and all that. There’ll probably be bigger battles coming.

“No, I’m not really. I just hid it better,” Stiles answers and passes his father to head down the stairs. “Gotta run, good luck with the monster case!”

 

Harris’ class is just after lunch and Stiles makes it in just before the bell. Intentionally, so he doesn’t have a chance to talk with anyone in his pack.

Natalie Martin is sitting on the edge of the teacher’s desk in the front of the room and when everyone’s in their seat and reasonably silent, she stands and says, “Good afternoon. You may have heard that Mr. Harris is out on leave right now. I’ll be sitting in for him for a day or so until we get a substitute chemistry teacher to take over.”

Erica raises her hand and asks, “Do you know how long he’ll be out?”

Ms. Martin says, “I think he’ll be out for the remainder of the year.”

“He works hard, he deserves a vacation,” Stiles says and slips his phone out of his pocket. Time to text Peter.

 


End file.
